People In Hell Want Icewater
a web.journal
newest shit
ancient shit
tell me shit
look at my farking
my podcast
my profile
about the title

get your own
read others
recommend me


Want to know when I post new stuff? Add your email here:

Fuckin' alterna-chicks


March 12, 2004 - 3:50 p.m.

Fuckin' alterna-chicks.

When did I lose my ability to spot alterna-chicks? You know who I'm talking about... those leftover wannabe hippie chicks. Find the artsy area of any major city (in this case, the Adams-Morgan area of DC), and they'll be there. Too much gaudy costume jewelry, clothes from dusty consignment shops, handmade macrame purse jammed with bus schedules and echinacea, unshaven pits, bad teeth from never having dental insurance, their refrigerators crammed so tight with half-wrapped, dried-out tofu-like creation leftovers that it blocks out the light and the thing is a dark, rank porcelain cave of food nightmares...

You know who I'm talking about.

What a fucking waste of time last night was. I am never, EVER going to be interested in a woman who lives in a place like that unless she (a) has a car with which to escape on a regular basis and/or (b) has dreams of living somewhere else. And I think ownership of more than two Grateful Dead CDs voids all play instantly. I drove down to meet this woman, it took over TWO HOURS to go what my GPS said was 33 miles in a straight line. Another 20 minutes trying to find somewhere to park. And then wandering around trying to find somewhere to go to dinner. I was just in a foul mood and said, look, I am sorry for wasting your time having you come out, but I just don't see this happening. And I got on the Segway and left... went back to the Saab and got out of DC as fast as possible.

You know what it really was, though? The letdown. Driving through DC, you see all sorts of gorgeous women on the street. The ones I like: elegant, classically attractive, well-dressed, coming from nice professional jobs where they use their brains all day. Bright eyes and bushy tails, as they say.

And then to meet this woman, who was considerably more worn-looking than her picture had suggested.

The letdown got to me. I thought, OK, maybe for someone who looked like Holly Golightly, this goddamn drive would be worth it, but to wear the shocks and clutch out every week to meet some whiskey-voiced alterna-chick of the sort I stopped dating 20 years ago...

Fuck.


previous - next